Shell-shocked
by ClaireScott
Summary: Arthur meets the wife of a new partner. And he falls for her. Slowly, but hard. She's going through one hell of a marriage, and Arthur doesn't like it one bit.
1. Chapter 1

It was a Saturday in May, a rainy, cold, shitty day when he first laid eyes on her pitiable form. He and Tommy visited Carl Erbe, a surprise visit to suss him out. Carl maintained some good contacts to a few not-so-honorable salesmen in Edinburgh, Southampton and Plymouth. Tommy wanted to stay in his good books. Because you never know, do you?

Carl lived in a small house, Pinkerton Drive, in a miserable neighborhood. Arthur sighed, wishing to be somewhere else, maybe in a warm bed, able to sleep without nightmares, deep and long and dreamless. He hadn't really slept for a few days in a row now, his temper simmering on the edge of insanity. About six hours of sleep in five nights doesn't cool one's temper.

The door opened as if by an invisible hand and he stepped into the hallway, right after Tommy. He looked to the right, seeing a small woman wearing a headsquare pressing herself between the door and the wall, making room for them.

"Hello, Mrs. Erbe." Tommy said, obviously already knowing her. "Kitchen?"

She nodded, pointing to the door on the left. She followed them to the small, bleakly kitchen and hurried to the cupboard, ready to serve them tea.

"Ah! Tommy! And Arthur, I guess?" The man at the table got up, shaking Tommy's hand.

"Right. Pleasure," Arthur grunted, reaching for his hand.

"Tea, gentlemen?" Carl asked and Tommy nodded. "Constance!"

He barked as if she would mooch around a few blocks down the road, not standing just an arm's length away. Arthur winced, sensitive to noise because of his lack of sleep.

"Here, sir," the small woman whispered. "I'm sorry."

She poured tea into their cups and Arthur saw that she was shaking like a leaf. She made a mess at Tommy's cup and Carl growled. He waited for her to put the teapot back to stove before he spoke.

"Come here, bitch."

Arthur noticed tears on her cheeks as she took two steps to her husband. She made herself small, obviously awaiting some blows. Her arms twitched upwards to cover her face with her hands, but she fought this reflex.

"It's alright, Carl. Nothing happened. Just send her out, I want to talk." Tommy said calmly.

"Go," Carl commanded after giving Tommy a killing glance, pointing to the door.

She wiped the tears of her cheeks and made two steps forward. Carl tripped her up and she fell facedown to Arthur's feet, not able to suppress a cry. She got up slowly, to slow for Carl's liking, so he kicked her ass, making her stumble again.

"I apologize for that stupid rag bag, gentlemen."

Arthur noticed her black eye, the cut in her lower lip, the tears on her cheeks. He reached out for her, but she shook her head, refusing his help.

Carl got up, sighing deeply: "I escort her out. Excuse me for a moment, please."

He grabbed her arm, dragged her to the kitchen door and tossed her bruised body out. Arthur heard the small cry as her body crashed to the wall. Carl stepped in the hallway, closing the door behind him.

"Pull yourself together. No interfering in the marital life of other men, got it?" Tommy whispered, squeezing Arthur's shoulder.

"He's an asshole. "

"He is. But he's useful. So, forget it."

The look Arthur gave Carl in the moment he came back would've made sensitive natures crawl to his feet, begging for mercy. But Carl didn't even bat an eye.

Arthur couldn't forget the little scene for weeks, thinking about her in every single sleepless night. He didn't consider himself as a gentle, soft and deeply loving man, but the way she existed was nothing he could stand.

* * *

In the first week of July she came to The Garrison Pub, just as Arthur wanted to leave. He bumped into her right in front of the door.

"I'm sorry, sir," she mumbled, lowering her head even more.

"Mrs. Erbe," he said. "Nice to see you. Come in."

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby," she answered and followed him into the bar.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you. I've got a letter from Mr. Erbe for you. And I'm ordered to buy six bottles of Scotch Ale."

"'Course. Take a seat, please." He pointed to a table and called for Grace: "Grace! Two cups of tea. Move it!"

"Sir, I can't ..."

"You can because I say so. Take a seat."

Reluctantly she did as he said, placing the letter on the table. He took the paper and slipped it in the inside pocket of his jacket, without even looking at it. He watched her closely, counting the visible marks of her husband's brutality. Black eye, once again, a little cut on her cheek, a bruise on her lower jaw. She was none of his business, and he knew a lot of women who were beaten up by their husbands on a regular basis. For stealing money, for talking back, for refusing their marital duties, for fucking with the brother of her brother-in-law. But not for spilling a few drops of fucking tea.

"Do you have children?" Arthur asked, fumbling for a cigarette.

"No, sir."

"How long are you married?"

"Ten years in December."

Grace served two cups of tea and a plate of tea biscuits, god knows where she had found them.

"Help yourself, Mrs. Erbe. Please." Arthur said, pushing the plate to her.

He noticed the hunger in her eyes, the gulping, the sheer need to eat them.

"Sir, I have to ..."

"We won't tell him. Eat and drink. I insist. Did you have lunch?"

She shook her head, taking one biscuit.

"Breakfast?"

"No, sir."

"Yesterday's dinner?"

Again, she shook her head, chewing with closed eyes and an expression of relief on her face.

"The biscuits are delicious," she whispered, taking another. "Thank you."

"Welcome. So, six bottles of Scotch Ale, right?" Arthur asked, just to get a grip, to distract him from this beautiful woman stumbling through a never ending hell.

She was shell-shocked, kind of.

"Yes, Mr. Shelby. "

He nodded to Grace to fill her basket and cleared his throat: "Regarding the letter, Mrs. Erbe ..."

"Yes, sir?"

"Tomorrow afternoon you'll come here, picking up my answer."

She nodded: "Of course. Thank you. What ... what do I owe you for the tea and the biscuits, sir? I ... I've got money for the ale, of course, but unfortunately not one penny more."

"You owe me nothing. It's on my tab."

"Oh. So ... thank you again, Mr. Shelby."

Arthur gave her a short nod, watched her finish her tea and all the biscuits in silence, and walked her out.

"I'll see you tomorrow at 2 p.m."

"Yes, sir. Thank you for the tea and biscuits and your hospitality."

"Welcome, Mrs. Erbe."

He gave her a small smile as she looked up for a second, and watched her walking down the road. She hobbled a bit and he fought the urge to give Carl Erbe a bit of his own medicine. But first, he was going to feed her some sandwiches. Tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur took his fob watch out of his pocket, frowning. Constance Erbe was late. He felt his temper rising and clenched his fist. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathing deeply. In. Out. She'll come. She'll come. She'll have tea and sandwiches and ...

The door to the pub opened and Carl Erbe entered the room.

"Carl." Arthur said frosty. "I expected your wife."

"Good afternoon, Arthur." He sighed, shaking his head in a kind of faked sadness that made Arthur want to throw up: "Constance is indisposed as she dawdled yesterday on her way back. Oh, these women! Once you think they've learned their lesson, they start again to walk all over you, don't they?"

Arthur clenched his teeth, swallowing a strongly-worded answer. He took the letter he wrote out of the inside pocket of his jacket and handed him to Carl.

"Here's our answer." He said, turned around and left without any other word.

On his way through the streets he noticed a lot of women. They were poor as a bunch of church mice, worked incredibly hard, raising children with nearly nothing. He noticed a few black eyes, but most of the women looked unharmed. He even returned a few smiles, heard laughter. Constance Erbe looked like she has not had one laugh in years.

But still, she had married Carl, she was his, none of his own business.

"I have to get her out of my head, goddammit," he murmured, thinking about to pull someone in a club.

And yet, he didn't. He spent the evening sitting by the fireside, listening to the painful cries of the doomed, smelling the mud and blood covering the bottom of a trench in Turkey. He drank whiskey until the pictures changed, until the moaning stopped. There was a point in his befuddlement where the war faded out, where he was able to replace the blood, the dying men, the shattered limbs with memories of peaceful nights. White skin on grey sheets, a warm body, a welcoming smile. Her legs wide open, her voice low and thick. He watched the pictures in his mind with awe, remembering the slow love making, contrasting with the heartless fucking he practiced since he came back from the war. Not that there was something wrong with heartless fucking. But he missed the illusion of being loved. Of being hers, of her belonging to him. It felt like a bandage, for his wounds, his temper, his whole existence.

He had the feeling that Constance Erbe would understand this need deep from the heart. She needed someone to cling to. Just like him. Holding each other, comforting, warming, soothing. How much more bearable, livable his existence would be if he'd find ease and comfort in the arms of a woman.

Arthur trudged himself in his bed, and found a little bit of peace in the imagination of Constance Erbe's body lying next to him. He slept for five hours at a stretch, more than he had slept in one night in the last six months.

* * *

The next time he met her was about three weeks later, when Carl sent her to buy six bottles of Stout.

"Mrs. Erbe", he greeted. "What a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby." She smiled at the floor, not looking at him for one second.

"Please, take a seat." He said softly before turning around to the bar: "Grace! Tea, please. And sandwiches!"

"Mr. Shelby, thank you. But I have to hurry up. Mr. Erbe ..." Constance answered, giving him a pleading look.

"I know." Arthur lowered his voice. "I'm gonna walk you home and he won't lay a finger on you. Leave this to me, will you?"

"Do I have a choice, sir?"

"No. Because you have to eat. You've lost weight."

"I know."

"Why so?"

"Mr. Shelby, I appreciate your worries, but ..."

"Just call me Arthur." He answered, pointing at the nearest table. "Please, take a seat."

She did as she's told, head bowed, her fingers fumbling with her old, worn out dress. Arthur took a few seconds to study her body, noticing some strangulation marks on her neck. He took a deep breath, fighting the anger down. Later.

Grace brought tea and sandwiches and petted over Constance's shoulder: "Enjoy your meal."

Arthur gave her a small smile before he concentrated on his guest.

"Help yourself, Constance. Come on, eat." He said, waiting for her to take a sandwich. "So, why do you lose weight? Does he starve you?"

She nodded and took a small bite before she spoke: "Unfortunately I happen to be a very bad wife. And as often as he chastises me I just won't get any better. Not even the cane or the birch made me a better wife for him. So Mr. Erbe decided that a woman who shows bad behavior isn't allowed to eat."

"What did you do? Talking back? Stealing money? Having an affair? Refusing your ... duties?" Arthur asked, lighting a cigarette to calm his nerves.

"No." Constance shook her head, breathing in deeply.

Arthur waited a few seconds, watched her eat, and waited for her go on.

"So, what did you do? I wanna help you. And to be helpful I have to know what his problem is."

"It's nothing." Constance whispered. "It's just me. I breathe. I'm there. That's all. I try so hard to ... to make him happy but it's never enough. He hates me with all he has."

"Why? There must be a reason." Arthur wanted to know.

"He is in love with another woman, you know? Her name was Liz, and she was my sister. But Liz married another man, not even considering his courting. So he married me, just to be near her. Her husband was killed in the war, and Carl believed in a second chance. But he was married to me. He wanted a divorce to court her again but Liz married a second time, only two months after James' death. She got pregnant right after the wedding and died while giving birth, along with her little son." Constance took a deep breath, wiping tears off her cheeks: "Mr. Erbe hates me because I'm not Liz, because she got pregnant by another man, because she died and he's still here with me, the ugly, good-for-nothing sister."

"You're neither ugly nor good-for-nothing," Arthur stated. "And he could still go for a divorce."

Constance shook her head: "Liz is dead. There's no other woman he's interested in." She gave him a small smile: "Thank you for listening. I have to go now. Mr. Erbe will be furious if I come home late."

"I'll walk you home. As I said. I'll make sure he won't be furious, Constance."

"I ... I want to believe you so much, Mr. Shelby."

"I know. And it's Arthur. Say it."

"Arthur," she repeated in a low voice. "Thank you, Arthur. For the tea and the sandwiches."

"You're welcome," Arthur said and felt his cock twitching by the sound of her whispering his name.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur saw her two or three times a month over the next half year. He fed her tea and sandwiches, sometimes he shared his lunch with her, baked potatoes or some pie. After every visit he walked her home, carrying the basket with the six bottles of beer she was ordered to buy. He told Carl Erbe a more or less inventive story to explain the time delay, and knew that his counterpart didn't believe one syllable of it. He said his goodbyes, walked around the corner of the house and eavesdropped Carl reprimanding Constance. Arthur fought his boiling anger until a day in February. That's when he leaned against the wall next to the kitchen window, listening closely.

"You're late", Carl snarled. "Again."

"Yes, sir. And I'm sorry. As Mr. Shelby told you, there were ..."

"I give a shit about the lies this bastard told me this time. Tell me, slag, if I stick my fingers in your dirty cunt, will I feel Shelby's sperm on my skin?"

Arthur clenched his teeth, closing his eyes, fighting for control. He wanted to kill Carl Erbe so badly. In his imagination he kicked the door open, his revolver in his hand. He'd grab this asshole by the scruff of the neck and scatter his brain at the walls, sending him to hell.

Arthur was so deep in his brutal fantasies, that he didn't hear Constance's answer, just Carl's barked command.

"Bend over the table, dirty whore, now!"

Apparently she did as she was told, without even arguing. The next thing he heard was a painful cry, and Carl's snarky comment: "Dry as the goddamn desert, as always. Did he fuck your ass, to make sure you won't conceive, Constance? Didn't you tell him that you're actually too dumb to get pregnant?"

A slapping sound, followed by a strangled cry.

Carl raised his voice even more, snorting with rage: "Or did you pleasure him with your mouth? Tell me, little whore."

"I didn't do any of these things, sir, please ... Mr. Shelby has never touched me, I swear, sir, please, please, no ...! No, no, please, don't ...!"

Arthur heard the tears in her voice, he felt her fear, her despair as she had nowhere to go, no chance to avoid a single second of what she had to come.

Another painful cry, followed by low whimpering, accompanied with the typical grunting of a man who fucks a woman hard, deep and relentless. Carl Erbe humbled his wife while he pounded into her and told her that his behavior was her own fault. He panted things of her unworthiness and demerit, of her lack of beauty and her inability to be a good wife for him. Arthur noticed the sound of a head bumping on a wooden tabletop, just as Carl gasped: "Even too stupid to give me a son, that's what you are, a useless whore! Next time Shelby fucks you, you're gonna demand payment, are we clear?"

"Yes, sir ...," Constance sobbed and Carl shouted, furious of anger: "So he fucked you already, did he?"

"No, sir, he didn't, please, stop, it hurts, it hurts so much ..."

Arthur had enough, he knew this had to stop immediately. Unfortunately he couldn't kill Carl in front of his wife, not if he wanted to court her. He needed another plan. He left the site, went home and wrote a short letter which he planned to give Constance the next time he saw her: _"Meet me tonight at 11. Dock 3122. Big shipment. Need to talk. Tommy."_

* * *

Just three weeks later he stood at the front door of the house at Pinkerton Drive. He knocked and Constance opened the door, dressed in black, but for the first time without visible injuries. He couldn't suppress a smile, although smiling was very inappropriate in this situation.

"Constance ...," he said in a low voice. "I just heard about Carl and I would like to express my sincere condolences. I am so sorry to hear about your loss."

"Thank you, Arthur."

She bowed her head, a stunningly comely gesture, Arthur thought.

"Can I offer you some tea?" She continued, giving the floor one of her rare, small smiles.

He nodded and followed her into the kitchen.

"What had happened?" He asked, just as if he wouldn't know every detail of the incident.

Constance poured tea in two cups, and she didn't shake like a leaf this time. Arthur noticed this with some satisfaction.

"Carl went out late, I don't know why, and he never came back. Three days ago a boatman spotted his corpse in a sewer near Ingleby Street. He ... he ... the Police Inspector said he drowned. Maybe he was drunk and fell into the sewer."

Arthur nodded slowly. It had been one hell of a job to make it look like an accident, but it worked. Although he sensed Carl's death as too easy for an asshole like him, he was thankful that Constance was free now, released of fear, pain and rape.

"So, what now? Do you have plans?" He asked, tilting his head.

"No, I ... I'm still swept off my feet."

"You'll need a job. Or a husband," Arthur stated matter-of-factly.

Constance turned pale and shook her head: "No ... no husband. I can't ..."

"That's alright. How about a job at The Garrison's?" He asked, giving her a small smile. "Grace could need a helping hand."

"Oh ...," Constance whispered. "That's very generous, Mr. Shelby."

"It's still Arthur," he answered. "You need a job, I have one to offer. That's all."

She nodded, and he sat there in silence for another twenty minutes, admiring her beauty and enjoying the so welcomed, calming effect she had on him. In her presence, he was able to breathe without smelling mud, blood and rotting flesh. In her presence, the artillery fell silent and the war had never happened.

Arthur got hooked in an instant.


	4. Chapter 4

It was summer, over a year after he had first laid eyes on Constance. During the past months he had watched her blossom visibly. She smiled a bit more and once in a while Grace made her laugh, this a sight and a sound Arthur enjoyed pretty much.

She always worked the late shift, most of the days accompanied by him. Whatever Tommy had in mind, he made sure that he was free to go in time for the closing hour of The Garrison's Pub. Arthur helped her to tidy up, and made sure that she came home safely. He got up in the morning, looking forward to the late night talk with Constance, living mostly for the time he could spend with her alone.

Constance sighed deeply, giving him a thankful smile. In his left hand he held a glass of whiskey for himself, in the other a cup of tea. This was his favorite way to end a day: taking a seat at a table, watching her in the dim light drinking her last cup of tea. They talked for about half an hour before he walked her home.

"Thank you, Arthur," she said, taking the cup out of his hand and placed it on a table. "Just give me a moment, I want ..."

He cleared his throat and stepped behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"You did a very good job, love," he whispered, not able to hold himself back any longer. "It's enough for today."

His fingers massaged her surely sore shoulders gently, nonetheless he felt her tensing. Arthur took a deep breath before planting a soft kiss on her neck.

"Don't be afraid, Constance. You need not to be scared of me." He murmured, hoping she would believe him, hoping, he could believe himself, trust his own words.

"Arthur ...," she whispered, "I ... please, don't."

He took a step back, ending every physical contact. She stood still like a rock, head bowed, staring at the tabletop, her fingers searching hold at a chair.

He butchered it. Ruined everything he had, just because he couldn't keep his greedy fingers by himself.

"I know," Constance said in a low voice, not moving an inch, "I know men like ... it ... very much and I know that I should be thankful and that I owe you a lot and ..."

"No," Arthur interrupted her. "You owe me nothing. I just ..." He stopped talking as he didn't know what to say.

He shook his head, clenching his teeth, the anger started to boil, but this time the person he wanted to beat to death was Arthur Shelby himself.

"I like you, Arthur, really, I do. You'll surely consider me for a very ingrate, damnable person, but ... but as Carl died, I was ... happy. That's awful, isn't it?"

"No," he answered, but Constance didn't seem to hear him.

"I felt relieve that I would never be beaten up again, that I was free from fulfilling marital duties. Ten years I lived in permanent pain and I don't want to feel this pain again. I can only ask for some understanding, can I?"

She sobbed, breathing deeply, her hands fisting the skirt of her dress. Still she looked at the tabletop, and still he stood behind her like the idiot he was.

"Can you forgive me, Arthur? I really would like to make you feel good, but ... but it hurts just so much ...," she whispered and if his heart hadn't been broken yet, it had been broken at this point.

"Carl was an arsehole, a twat, love. He'd hurt you badly, I know," Arthur murmured. "But ... you know, there are other ways to ... to bed a woman."

"Other ways?"

"It doesn't hurt if a man does it right. It's the job and the duty of a man to make ... it good for a woman, to make her enjoy it as much as he enjoys it." Arthur struggled for words, didn't want to scare her with the vocabulary the men used in the dark environment he lived in. "That's why they call it love making, Constance. Does making love sound like something that hurt?"

She shook her head and he continued, stepping a bit closer, lowering his voice: "What Carl did was raping you. He never made love to you, right?"

"I ... I guess not. I don't know," Constance answered and again, Arthur placed his hands on her shoulders: "If you had experienced it only one single time, you would know the difference."

His fingertips petted her neck, and he noticed a tear on her cheek, brushed it away with his thumb.

"Do you know how to ... make love?"

"Yes," he breathed at her ear. "Yes, I do."

"Can you tell me?"

"Uhm, it's ... a lot about kissing and ... and gentle touching. Everywhere. There are spots on your body ... goddammit, it's difficult to explain ..." Arthur took a step back and reached for the glass of whiskey, emptying it with one big gulp. "I'd make you want me. I'd enter you not until you'd beg me to. If it's done right it's about ... being incomplete without the other. It's a need, seated deep in you, which only I can fulfill."

She nodded, but he felt that she'd only get a rudimental picture of what he'd wanted to say. Slowly, Constance took a seat.

"You mean there's a difference between what Carl did and what ... you would do."

"Yes," Arthur nodded, "a ... a big difference."

In his mind he heard the insinuating, ambiguous remarks the other member of the Peaky Blinders would make, a lot of dick jokes. But he was here with her, alone, discussing very intimate things, and for the first time he didn't miss the men and their bad jokes.

"Would you mind if I speak freely?"

"Not at all. If you don't mind if I answer freely?" Arthur replied, giving her an encouraging smile.

Constance shook her head, returning his smile.

"It hurts so much when a ... a ... this thing ...," she paused, blushed and shook her head: "I can't ... say it, I'm sorry."

Arthur nodded and asked: "A penis? When a penis is forced into your body?"

"Yes. This. I cried every time. How could I ever beg for this? I don't understand."

"You weren't aroused. Arousal makes every inch of your ... woman parts, your pussy, wet, warm, smooth and silky. If you're wet, it doesn't hurt, not even a bit."

"Pussy? That's what you call it?" She asked and Arthur nodded.

She took a sip of the tea, furrowing her brows while thinking about his words.

"No one told me how to ... feel arousal and to ... be wet."

"That's a man's job, his duty. To make sure his woman is ready for him."

"So, maybe Carl didn't know this?"

"He knew. He was just an arsehole, Constance, not interested in your well-being."

"How can you know?"

"A man, interested in your well-being, doesn't starve you, love. He doesn't discipline you for spilling a few drops of tea and he doesn't rape you."

She nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. Silence fell over the room and he gave her a smile as she lifted her head, looking him in the eyes.

"Did he ever kiss you? Really kiss you?" He asked, playing with his empty glass.

Constance shook her head.

"Let me be the one to show you how good a kiss can be, will you?"

"May I think about it?" She asked, getting up.

He nodded and sighed: "Time to call it a day, right?"

"Yes. Thank you, Arthur. For everything."

He gave her a small smile and sighed. This had been one of the most difficult conversations he'd ever led. It was incredibly difficult to explain peace and joy to a broken soul who learned to walk on a battlefield, who slept in blood-filled trenches and vegetated in the dungeons of another man's darkness. But he thought that he did a good job. A job, hopefully awarded with a sweet kiss, if he was a lucky guy.


	5. Chapter 5

A week down the road they were alone again, like every evening in the past days. The dim light made her even more beautiful, made her skin look even softer and raised her charm into unknown heights. With every evening he fell deeper under her spell, her calming effect working like 100 grams of the best drugs dealt on the streets of Birmingham. He smelled her natural scent as she walked past him and took a seat at the table.

If she was his, he would sleep every night like a baby, he would hold her in his arms, his nose in her hair, smelling her scent, mixed with the odor of their love making.

"Arthur?" She asked and he looked up from his whiskey glass.

"Yes, love?"

"I asked Ragna about the ... the things we talked last week."

Arthur frowned and scratched at a sting on his neck: "Who's Ragna?"

"Don't scratch, Arthur. It only gets worse." She gave him a smile and continued: "Ragna is Vigdis Valkyrie. I thought, you know her ..."

"Oh, Vigdis? She's a whore, working at the whorehouse in Leicester Street, right? How do you know her?"

"She was our neighbor for a few years. I always wondered how women could work as whores. I used to think they must be very brave to ... to deal with the pain. And ... mhm ... very greedy for money."

"I see. So, you asked her ... what exactly?"

"About the love making."

Constance blushed a bit and Arthur saw a scene in his mind's eye.

 _There was a bed, a fireplace spending warmth and dim light. Constance looking up at him, her hair spread over the pillow, her cheeks red, her mouth slightly open, and her eyes filled with lust. He kneels over her, smirking like the cat that got the cream, one hand petting her breast._

 _"_ _You good?" He asks and she nods: "Yes. Arthur, please ..."_

 _"_ _Want me to make love to you?" He asks, lining his cock up at her pussy, enjoying her blushing._

 _"_ _Yes, please. Arthur, oooooh, Arthur ...," she sighs, the sweetest sound he'd heard in more than 30 years._

The twitching of his cock as he imagined how it would feel to slide slowly into her brought him back to reality.

"What did she say?"

"She likes it. It doesn't hurt if it's done right. She wanted to ... give me the details, but I ... I didn't want to hear them."

"So, I was right, was I?" He said and couldn't resist placing his hand over hers.

"I ... I guess so. Tonight I asked Grace and ... she said ... the same, but she added that ... Mr. Shelby can be very gentle but also very rough too. So, sometimes it hurts a little bit, but in a good way, she said. And ... now I ... I just don't know ..."

Arthur took a deep breath. Oh, Grace. He should take her over the knee for this. Scaring Constance with details of her fucking around with his brother was more than unwelcomed. But he sensed that he owed her the truth. The last thing he wanted was to destroy that little bit of trust he'd planted in her.

"She's right. It can be rough too, sometimes it may hurt for a second, but not too much. I'll go slow and gentle with you, Constance, as long as you need me to. You'll never rue if you give me a chance. I promise I'll stop immediately with whatever I'm doing if it causes you pain." He spoke under his breath, leant forward, her hands in his.

A promise, a solemn one.

"I'm scared, Arthur, so scared."

"I know. But there's no need to be scared as long as you're with me."

Constance took a deep breath and avoided his gaze, looking down on her lap: "Vigdis asked where I work now. I told her. And all she said was that I should be careful because Arthur Shelby is a very dangerous, erratic man."

"Maybe ... maybe you should just stop talking to people and ... goddammit!" Arthur spat, feeling his anger about this babbling whore, about Grace and Carl and everything standing in his way to her, turning from simmering to boiling over.

He let go of her hands, sprang on his feet, and paced the room, searching for release, for words, for an outlet for his rage. Arthur noticed that she felt uncomfortable, that she wished for being somewhere else. He scared her and he needed to regain control. And he needed to bed her, to smooth the things she feared out.

"Constance, I ...," he started and tore at his hair, speaking but still not knowing how to explain something so dark, so difficult and so far away from her, as she seemed to be an ineffaceable light to him.

A knock on the door interrupted his upcoming speech, took him the chance to explain himself.

"Mr. Arthur Shelby?" A male voice called from outside.

"Give me a minute," he said, before opening the door.

A greasy looking, older man stood outside and Arthur cocked his head: "We are closed."

"That's why I'm here, Shelby. We need to talk in private. I know what you did on the docks, back in February. And for 100 pounds my lips are sealed forever." He grinned and put his hands in his trousers, self-satisfied and feeling totally safe.

Big mistake, Arthur thought, his world turning red, all the dark and forbidden and hidden feelings boiling over, finding the outlet he searched for. He grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck, pulled him into the pub, slammed the door shut and said coldly: "You have to try a little harder to piss on Arthur Shelby, my friend."

"Just wanna talk, okay?" The man gasped, trying to get out of Arthur's grip.

"Too late, Mister. What's your name? Need it for your headstone."

"None of your business, Shelby," he hissed and Arthur punched him right in the face, breaking his nose with a well-directed blow.

"WHAT. IS. YOUR. FUCKING. NAME. ASSHOLE?" He shouted, so loud, so aggressive that possibly the whole city could hear him.

The guy held his bloody nose and whimpered: "Harris. Geordie."

Arthur froze, not because of his name, but because he heard footsteps behind him.

"Constance!" He barked, looking over his shoulder.

She stood still, near the kitchen door and he noticed tears in her eyes.

"Sir?"

Arthur gulped, knowing he fucked up. She was shaking with fear because he lost control for just a few seconds. Long enough for her to see the real Arthur, the monster who crawled out of the blood-filled trenches of the war.

"Wait in the kitchen. Stay there, whatever you hear, you won't come out. Am I understood?" He said, cold, strained, in a tone that forbids every opposition.

"Yes, sir," she whispered and did as she was told.

Arthur grunted and let the beast off the leash. He didn't care for Geordie Harris and what he'd seen or not. He beat the bloody hell out of this guy and kicked him out of the pub by the time is anger cooled down and the beast was tired. He knew that Geordie Harris wouldn't see the sunlight anymore. No doctor in the world could prevent this man from meeting his Creator before the night ended.

He locked the door, stumbled to the bar and poured himself a glass of whiskey. And another. Then he went to the bathroom, washing Harris' blood out of his face, from his hands and his neck. He noticed that he was nearly unharmed. Harris had been a dead duck against the beast named Arthur Shelby. His cock was rock hard, as always after a fight, and he wished nothing more than to be balls deep in a woman, in Constance, just to be exactly. He took a deep breath and walked to the kitchen door. He stepped into the room and saw her sitting at the small table, hands folded in her lap, head bowed.

"Constance ...," he said, closing the door behind him, the "click" made her jump.

"I didn't see or hear anything, sir. Please ..."

"Look at me," he demanded softly, feeling the peace she caused in him coming back.

But still, he struggled for words, not knowing what to say. Again. And he wanted her, needed her, so much that it hurts.


	6. Chapter 6

Her eyes were filled with tears as she obeyed. Carl had caned and birched and starved every opposition, every whiff of disobedience out of her. She was well-trained in listening to a man's orders. On the one side he felt sorry for her, for the lack of freedom and view. On the other side the instilled obedience made it easier to keep her safe. Arthur knew that she'd follow his orders blindly. If he said she had to stay in the bedroom while he talked to some dangerous bastards she would stay there until he ordered her out. Grace for example would snoop around and put herself in danger. But Constance ... she was easy to lead – except for all the other things regarding the bedroom. This would be a more difficult task.

Arthur took a deep breath, not wanting to concentrate on bedroom things right now, not with his still hard cock and the burning need of a welcoming pussy.

"Vigdis is right. I am a dangerous, erratic man. Being with me makes a lot of people very nervous. Did you feel great fear or the urge to flee when you were with me? Before tonight?"

"No, sir."

"Last week? When I kissed your neck and we talked about ... making love?"

"No, sir. Maybe ... maybe for a second, but you stopped before I ... got lost in my fear."

"That's good, love." Arthur stood up to take a look at the teapot, and filled the kettle with water.

She needed some tea. They didn't talk until the tea was ready and Arthur sat down again. But it was no uncomfortable silence, so he felt confident about the rest of the night. He just would tell her the truth and she ... hopefully would accept his courting.

"I've got a hot temper since being a little child," he said and noticed that this confession caused a very short smile in the corners of her mouth. "The war ... changed me. Like so many others. When I'm upset and provoked, I suddenly smell the blood and hear the guns like ... I'm in the thick of it. And then I just want to live. And to survive, the other man has to die."

Arthur looked at her, saw her nodding.

"I'm no honorable man. Maybe because of the war, maybe I'm just too stupid to be one. But with you, I feel like one, if this makes any sense. You ... calm me. Being alone with you feels like ... the war had never happened."

She nodded and took a sip of the tea: "I'm glad to hear this, sir."

"Stop calling me sir, love, please."

"Arthur."

"That's better."

"So, when you're upset and provoked, you're mind makes you think you're back in the war and you ... you run amok?" Constance asked hesitantly, her fingers playing nervously with the fabric of her skirt.

"Yes. When you're scared because a man yells at you, when he shows aggression, power or sternness, you're mind makes you think it's Carl. And you react in the same way you reacted on him. You start saying 'sir', you make yourself small, you try to get somehow invisible. We're both ... suffering from the past, we're haunted."

Constance took a deep breath and wiped some tears out of her eyes.

"Every man around me is ... an enemy. But you ... never. There were no women. So, when my mind ... forces me back, all you have to do is talk to me to bring me back. Do you understand?"

"Yes. Do you understand that I'm afraid though?"

"I do."

Once more, a nod, her head again bowed. She cleared her throat and said to her lap: "Can you tell me about ... your plans?"

"Regarding us?"

"Yes, please. I don't know what to expect. I don't want to lose you and still I'm so ... scared about everything."

Arthur thought about where to start, and for a minute everything was silent, really silent, so that he heard her breathing, deep and somehow stressed.

"First of all I'll make sure that you're safe, that you're not involved in the Shelby family business. My life's an unsteady one, so ... I'd have to come and go whenever I need to. I won't yell at you, reprimand you or discipline you. That, I promise."

"You don't believe in marital discipline?" Constance asked, her face showing her surprise.

"I do believe. But I know there's no need to practice it as you've had enough marital discipline for nine or ten lives, don't you?" Arthur cleared his throat, remembering the purpose of being honest, of building trust. "So, uhm, maybe, just maybe I'd discipline you. If you put your life in danger by disobeying my orders. But I don't think that will ever be the case."

"Thank you for your honesty," she whispered. "So ... so you're giving orders?"

"In dangerous situations, or when things happen you shouldn't see or hear. Like tonight. 'Go to the kitchen and don't come out' was a direct order, right? You obeyed, and all you got was a cup of tea. No yelling, no discipline."

"I ... I guess I can live with that." She nodded, closing her eyes for a moment.

"I know you can. So ..., at night ... you've nothing to expect but tenderness and ... love ... and ..."

"That sounds very sweet and wonderful." She answered as he didn't go on.

"I'm not that big of a talker and I don't think I've talked so much during the last years, but ... I want to show you. 'M better in showing."

Arthur hoped he would get the chance to show her very soon. He gave her a small smile and frowned as Constance got up, walked around the table and stood by his side, looking down on him.

"Wanna go home, love?" He asked and she shook her head.

She bent down, so close to him that he was able to smell her, that she for sure felt his breath on her cheeks. Constance took his left hand, which was placed on his thigh, in hers, and straightened up. She looked at his hand like she had never seen one before and he held still, barely daring to breathe. Her fingertips caressed his skin, examining the calloused, hard parts of every finger. His right hand searched for hold in the fabric of his jacket and his mind yelled that this thorough, gentle examination of something so ordinary like his hand was the fucking most erotic thing he had ever experienced.

"You've killed with these hands," she stated in a low voice.

"Yes," he whispered, not able to take his eyes of his hand in hers.

"Still, it feels good to ... touch you. You're warm and strong and ... hard."

 _His fingertip runs softly over her lower lip and she opens her mouth. His finger slips past her teeth, the tip of her tongue tickling his skin. Her eyes fall shut and she starts sucking on his finger._

 _"_ _Constance ...," he whispers and she lets go of his finger, kissing her way over the freckles on his upper body downwards to his belly button, further down to his throbbing cock ._

 _She takes his hands in hers, their fingers intertwined, and his hips twitch involuntarily as she opens her mouth to welcome his cock. His warm, strong and hard fingers would squeeze her hands in the moment he spills his load in her mouth ... if he hasn't decided to come in her pussy. In this case he tells her to stop, moving her around, on her back. He'd fuck her slowly, holding her gaze, and his warm, strong and hard fingers would press her hands into the mattress while thrusting harder to make them both cum._

Arthur got up slowly, towering over her small frame, his hand still in hers. He looked her in the eyes, breathing deeply, his jaw clenched. He wanted to kiss her so badly, yet he wasn't allowed to. Not yet.

And as earlier this night a knock on the front door interrupted his plans, his thoughts, his alone time with Constance.

What the fuck is wrong with this goddamn city, he thought and sighed deeply.

"Arthur?" A male voice called. "It's me. Daniel. We've got a problem at Stonewall Street."

"Stay in the kitchen," he said. "I'm back in a few minutes."

She nodded and let go of his hand.


	7. Chapter 7

Over the next few days Arthur had only little time for Constance, his late night talk to her had to be cancelled, a fact that troubled him more than he could have ever imagined. Every day he tried to steal a few minutes, half an hour, from his schedule to be with her, but they got interrupted every time. The anger in him simmered and his patience was shorter than ever. So he decided to take a few days off, to spend a full weekend with her.

It was a bright Friday morning in August as he knocked on her door. She opened, looking stunningly beautiful, even with sleep in her eyes. She was properly dressed, wearing an old grey skirt and a white blouse.

"Good morning, Arthur," she smiled and he noticed the honest sense of delight in her face.

"Morning, love. Did I wake you up?"

"No, you didn't. I'm just ... still tired. I made breakfast. Are you hungry?"

"Like a damn wolf pack."

"So, come in."

He smiled and stepped in the hallway, turning left to the kitchen. She placed another set on the table and poured him a cup of tea.

"Please," she said, "take a seat."

Arthur stood still in front of the table, not able to take his eyes off her, comparing the present with his first visit in this kitchen, with the picture of her laying to his feet, getting her ass kicked by a man he still felt hate for.

"You should move out, leave this goddamn rattrap to someone else." He stated, wanting her to be free from all the bad memories this house contained.

"Why?" She asked, looking a bit shocked over the rude description of her home.

"Too many bad memories. We should find ... a new house."

"I'm not able to pay more rent as I pay for this ... rattrap, as you choose to call it."

"We, love. Together."

Slowly she took a seat at the table and he followed suit.

"Arthur ...," she said under her breath. "We ... we aren't ..."

He lifted a hand, gesturing her to let him do the talking.

"Tell me, love, what do you think a man does when he comes for breakfast in his kitchen?" He stood up again, taking a step at her side.

"I ... I don't know. Carl used ... to yell at me because ... he didn't like what I made for breakfast, regardless of which kind of breakfast I served."

"Stand up," he demanded softly and she did as she was told, he sensed her insecurity and felt sorry for her, again.

She looked at the floor, standing still like a rock, frozen. She hadn't a clue what to expect, preparing herself to be beaten up, to be yelled at, to be reprimanded or disciplined. Constance didn't know a thing about love.

"Look at me, Constance."

Slowly, she lifted her head, but still avoiding his gaze. Gently he grasped her chin with two fingers and bowed his head, bringing his mouth to her ear.

"Thank you for breakfast, sweetheart. It looks as delicious as it smells," he whispered.

The stubble on his cheek caressed her skin as he straightened up, just to bow his head again. He placed his lips softly on hers, breathing her breath, whispering: "Good morning, my love."

And then he kissed her, a modest kiss, short and decent. Arthur took a step back, sat down and helped himself to some bread and jam. Constance watched him with awe, her mouth slightly open, her breathing deep and fast. She was stunned by this little act of affection. And he could see that she liked it, that she wanted more. He gave her a smile, pointing to her chair.

"Come on, take a seat, eat, darling. We've got a long day ahead."

"What do you mean?" She asked, taking a seat.

"First, you need to pack a suitcase. And then ... I've got a surprise for you, love."

"A suitcase?" Constance frowned. "I ... I don't even own one."

"Good thing I have an empty one in the car." Arthur grinned and poured himself another cup of tea.

"But ..."

"I missed you. And as long as we're in Birmingham a hundred people will interrupt our time together. So we ... leave the city for the weekend. Like ... the Earl of fucking Shelby and his beautiful Lady."

"Really? Where do we go?"

"We'll take the train to Aberystwyth. And then ... you'll see."

* * *

It was late afternoon when they reached The Bell's Inn, not the best hotel at the place but one of the best.

Constance looked in awe at the lobby, at the chandelier and the leather armchairs in front of a giant fireplace. She was so busy with looking that she didn't notice Arthur checking in. After he handled the formalities he offered his arm like a real gentleman and they followed the suitcase carrier to their room. Arthur tipped him generously and closed the door behind him with a deep felt relief. Constance hadn't said a word since they entered the hotel, but now she opened her mouth, searching for words.

"Where ... where is my room, Arthur?" She asked frowning.

"That's our room."

"Our room?" She gasped, shaking her head. "Arthur, we're not married! That's ..."

"We're Mr. and Mrs. for this weekend. No one here knows we're not married," he whispered, stepping closer, taking her hands in his. "Do you trust me, Constance?"

"Yes," she answered. "I do. But it's still indecent to ... sleep in a marital bed without being married."

"Who's there to judge, love? The staff thinks we're legally married and no one else knows we're here. So, for the staff we have to ... pretend we're married and everything's alright. But back in Birmingham, love, it's better for you to stay unwed."

"Why?" Constance asked, frowning. "If I ... love a man and feel the need to be his ..."

"If you're married you can't leave. You can't tell me to stop then because as your legally wed husband it's my right to consummate the marriage or to discipline you. Guess you wouldn't want that anymore ..."

"Arthur ...," she whispered, shaking her head, "no ... not you. You'd never ..."

"No, probably not." He smiled and caressed her cheek. "Don't be afraid, love."

He kissed her hand, pulling her closer, inhaling her scent. He wanted to drown in her eyes but he also wanted to fuck her for the first time before dinner was served. Arthur didn't want to wait much longer.

"Close your eyes. Enjoy," he whispered and kissed her as she did as she was told.

First, she was a little bit stiff, but after a few seconds her body relaxed a bit, although her mouth was still tightly closed.

"It's alright, sweetheart," he murmured at her lips. "Open your mouth a little bit, I'm gonna show you a new way to kiss."

"A new way ...?" She whispered and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth, to kiss her slow and deep.

He knew Carl had never really kissed her, so she had no clue about the joys of kissing, although she had been married for ten years.

She sighed, squeezed his hands and he didn't stop to kiss her, keeping it slow and gentle. His fingers twitched with the need to caress her breasts through the fabric of her blouse but he held himself back. She tasted so good, smelled so good and felt so fantastic in his arms. There was no need to rush the things that would follow as sure as death and taxes.

He pulled back, ending the kiss, smiling about her reddened cheeks and her still closed eyes.

"This, darling, is the way a married man kisses his wife, if he's interested in her well-being, if he's in love with her."

"Oh ...," she whispered and opened her eyes. "Arthur ... that was ... Can you kiss me again, please?"

"Uh, but we're not married," he teased, his smile making his laugh lines crinkle.

"You ... tease me. That's not fair," she whispered and failed in suppressing a smile, hiding her face at his chest.

He embraced her, taking a deep breath.

"I like seeing you smile. And I like kissing you. But if you want me to kiss you, you need to look at me."

Arthur felt a very welcomed peace as she offered him her mouth for another kiss. The war ... was a thousand miles away and all he could smell was Constance, all he could hear were the little sighs and his breathless whispered name coming out of her mouth. The beast felt asleep and he knew it wouldn't wake until Monday. He would be able to love her the way she deserved it. In this cozy hotel room in Wales was no room for fear and hate.

He kissed her again, and again, not wanting to stop.

"I wanna do things to you ...," he whispered after half an hour of kissing, after placing her on the edge of the bed when her knees got weak because of all the kissing.

"Things?" She asked and caressed his cheek, her eyes full of warmth and love.

"Wonderful things, but unfortunately unmentionable, especially for Lord and Lady Shelby, my love."

"You're not Lord Shelby, so ... I guess you can tell me," she whispered and he shook his head: "No. But I'm gonna show you."

And as he kissed her again, he opened the first buttons of her blouse


	8. Chapter 8

"Wait," she whispered, placing her hand over his, stopping him, "please, Arthur ... let me ..."

"What is it, love?"

She took a deep, shaky breath, and bowed her head. She wasn't able to look him the eyes. Arthur realized that she was still scared of doing something wrong, of getting a beating or at least a severe lecture.

"Shhh," he soothed, "everything's fine, Constance. Tell me, what's on your mind? You know you can talk to me, right? There's nothing to fear."

"What ... what about dinner?" She grinded out, with her voice so thin and small.

"Dinner?" Arthur frowned, looking closely at her face. "Are you hungry or just afraid?"

"Both," she confessed, blushing. "I know I can trust you and there's no need to fear a night with you ..., but ..."

"You're right. Maybe it's better to have dinner first. I don't want to starve until breakfast and I don't want to leave this bed after I made love to you, sweetheart." Arthur sighed, but gave her a smile, re-buttoning her blouse. "You look beautiful, Constance."

"Thank you." She scooted away from him, taking a deep breath.

"Give me a smile, love," he whispered, got up and offered her his arm.

* * *

Two hours later they were back in their room and Arthur uncorked the bottle of wine he'd ordered. He filled her glass to the half, not wanting to make her drunk. But she needed something to help her loosen.

"Take a seat and drink this, love," he says, pointing to the armchairs at the fireplace. She did as she was told and took the glass with shaking hands. "Slowly. Enjoy."

"I've never been in such a beautiful room," she whispered, looking around. "And I've never had wine before."

"Then try some. I'm sure you're gonna like it."

She took a sip and another and gave him a nervous smile. Arthur waited patiently until she emptied the glass, watching her with awe, enjoying the peace, listening to the popping and crackling of the fire.

"I don't feel anything," she stated and Arthur smiled: "You will. It's Port and you're not used to it. Just give it a moment to ... take effect."

He waited for another 15 minutes in this soothing, peaceful silence, before he saw her tense shoulders slump.

"Feel better?" He asked in a low voice and she gave him a smile.

"Yes. I feel ...," she shrugged and whispered: "I don't know ... lighter and longing?"

"That's good." Arthur got up, offering her a hand.

He led her to the bed and got rid of the waistcoat, before opening the buttons of his shirt. Constance gulped and watched him removing the shirt and the vest, staring at his naked chest.

"You ... you are so handsome," she whispered and he smiled, took her hand in his and placed them over his heart. "And so warm ...," Constance continued.

Arthur came closer, closing the gap between their bodies and bowed his head to kiss her. It was more than natural to embrace the back of her head with his free hand, pressing her body against his. She kissed him with more spiritedness than ever before and he couldn't suppress a moan. He wanted her, the urge to take her growing with every second.

He took a step back and started to open all the buttons and braces, in a fevered haze, only stopping to steal a kiss every few seconds. Once she stood in front of him in her undergarment, he took a deep breath before opening his pants and stepping out of them, removing his socks in the process.

"Lay down," he whispered, and, suddenly thinking of his manners: "Please, Constance."

She hesitated for the length of a few heartbeats before she climbed in the bed, sitting upright at the headboard, her fingers fumbling nervously with the fabric of her undergarment.

"Please," he repeated and watched the expression of pure horror and fear on her face with a deep felt sadness.

She nodded and lay down, stiff and tense. Arthur slid at her side, moving slowly, and took her hands in his.

"Whatever happens, if you need me to stop, just say it. Whatever good you feel, go with it, don't hold back. Tell me what you like most and I'll do it until you ask me to stop."

She nodded and he placed a kiss on her forehead.

"There's no need to be embarrassed or to fear me, love. I won't hurt you."

Arthur caressed her cheek before kissing her deeply. He kissed her until her body reacted with a moan, with her hand searching hold on his shoulders. It's been years since he kissed a woman at great length. He enjoyed every fucking second, wished this night would last forever.

"Arthur ...," she sighed after a full hour of kissing, "I never knew ..."

"And that's just the beginning ...," he answered, while his hand slipped under her undergarment, petting over her leg.

A few kisses later he experienced a very weak moment, full of greedy lust, and removed the rest of her clothes in one running movement.

"Arthur!" She gasped, covering her sex and her breast as good as possible.

"'M sorry," he mumbled, leading her hands softly to her sides, exposing her to him. "It's just ... damn it, Constance ... you're so beautiful ..."

He did see the marks and scars Carl left on her body and he was truly shocked by the number of them. Actually, he felt a bit afraid of seeing her backside, as her chest, her belly, legs and arms alone were impressive proof of Carl's abuse. This arsehole had beaten the bloody hell out of the woman he once vowed to love, comfort, honour and protect.

Constance shook her head, her eyes closed, her cheeks reddened by embarrassment: "I'm ... not. I'm ugly. He said it to me a million times."

"He lied. He lied and he treated you like shit. I wouldn't believe how ... cruel he had been, if I couldn't see it right before my eyes. Just look at you, love ...," Arthur whispered, feeling the anger starting to burn. "As long as you're with me, no one will do you harm. I promise."

"Thank you, Arthur. Would you mind if I ... dress again?" She asked under her breath, dragging at the fabric clustered in his hands.

"Dress? No, darling. To make love we both have to be naked. Just ... give me a second."

Arthur grinned, removed his underpants and settled back, popping himself up on the elbows, so she could have a look on his body. Constance blushed and whispered: "I've never seen a naked man before."

"Never? Not even your arsehole husband?"

She shook her head, biting on her lip.

"He never got undressed. He just ... bent me over and opened his pants."

"If he wasn't dead already, I would love to kill him," Arthur hissed, sliding nearer, and pushed the thoughts of Carl aside while kissing her once more. "Touch me, love." He whispered and smiled as she caressed his cheek.

He kissed his way down to her breast, holding her close to him. When he sucked her nipple in his mouth, she gasped loudly: "Arthur!"

"I'm here, love," he answered, blowing warm breath over her skin. "It's alright, don't be scared. Close your eyes and enjoy. You'll like it, promise."

She was so busy with feeling every little touch of his tongue on her body that she couldn't give any pleasure to him. Arthur smiled, enjoying himself very much, even if he hadn't been the big coddler until today. He was used to laying back and getting served. Her breath hitched from time to time and she wasn't able to lie still anymore.

"Gonna touch your pussy now," Arthur announced and his hand slid over her belly between her legs. "Spread your legs a little, love, let me do my job."

"Is ... is this ... is this decent and proper?" She wanted to know, pressing her legs together.

"It is. That's the way it's done," he whispered. "Let me show you. God created you to feel this way, so why should it be false to use what he gave you? Open your legs, please, Constance, and I'll show you what you've missed."

"I'm scared, Arthur," she confessed. "I'm sure it will hurt."

"No. It won't hurt, I promise. Not after all the kissing we've done."

"But ..."

"Constance," he said, his voice severe.

"Yes?" She asked in a small voice as he didn't continue.

"Spread your legs. Don't you feel a tingle down there?"

"I ... I do. And I'm not sure what it is."

"It's a good thing and I can make it grow. But for this I need to touch you there."

"What ... what is it, this tingle?" Constance asked and Arthur thought about giving her another glass of wine, just to make it a bit easier for them both.

He needed her and for this he needed her to be relaxed.

"Do you know why Carl consummated the marriage?" Arthur asked and cleared his throat. "Not only because he wanted a son, right?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"I ... I guess, it feels good for a man when he spills his semen. Am I right?" She asked and opened her legs a little bit, enough for him to caress the top of her labia.

"You are. It's a very good feeling, we love it. Women are able to experience something similar and it's a man's job to make her feel it. Did you know this?"

Constance shook her head and hid her face at his shoulder.

"There's no need to be embarrassed, darling. Look at me and open your legs. Spread them, come on. Let me do my job, will you?" He held her gaze, giving her an encouraging nod. Her legs opened and he praised: "That's good, that's my girl."

He started with placing his flat hand between her legs, using a bit pressure and a little bit of friction, very gentle and very careful. In the moment her hips rose, searching for more, he kissed her and whispered praise.


	9. Chapter 9

Her reactions were so pure, so undisguised that Arthur wished he could forget all the studied and choreographed moans of all the whores he fucked during the last years. Watching Constance learning to love, to trust, to feel and to handle lust and pleasure was the greatest thing he'd ever experienced.

He slipped a finger between her folds, founding her warm and wet. He searched for the little nub that made women hot and bothered, and she shrieked as he found it.

"Arthur!"

"That feels good, doesn't it?" He whispered, smiling, as her hips rocked against his hand, in a reflexive movement.

He started slow and careful, but soon increased speed and pressure, feeling more and more wetness on his fingertips. He circled her nub without touching it directly. Her moans got louder and louder, her body started to writhe. He held her closer, minimizing her mobility, making sure she had nowhere to go.

"Arthur ... Arthur ..." She panted, her voice strained and filled with lust. "Oh, please ..."

"Want me to stop?" He whispered at her temple, kissing the first beads of sweat away.

"No! Yes! I ... I ... no ... Arthur ..."

Her back arched and he knew she was getting closer to her climax.

"That's good, love, just do what you need to do. Tell me, shall I go faster? More pressure?"

"Yes, yes, please, Arthur ...," she moaned and he did as she wanted, increasing his efforts once more.

"Close your eyes, darling. Let go, love. Just let it go. I have you. You're mine." His voice sounded raspy, his cock hurt, but he had to wait, to stay calm and focused.

He wanted her to be completely relaxed, to be somewhat semi-conscious by the time he slid into her. She sobbed, a strangled sound, her body quivering, her hand gripping his shoulder in a nearly painful way. Arthur wanted to suck on her nipple, to give her even more pleasure, but he also wanted to look at her face when she found pleasure in his arms.

"Hold on to me, Constance, darling, and let go. You're so close to your release, aren't you?"

Her answer was barely understandable, puffed between pants and moans: "Arthur ... Arthur ... I ... I ... oh, God!"

Her back arched once more, her free hand grasped the sheets, searching for hold as the first climax ever hit her body like a fucking freight train. She screamed, remarkably loud for her small body and her guarded personality. Arthur closed her mouth with a kiss, drinking her moans, her rapid gasping.

While kissing her, he shifted his body over hers, spreading her legs, making room for his hips. Her eyes were still closed, she was breathing heavily, but a smile graced her lips, the aftershocks of a strong orgasm still pulsing through her body and soul.

"Do you want me to show you how to make love?" He whispered, his left arm holding his weight, his right hand caressing her cheek.

She nodded, sighing, her eyes still closed.

"Say it, Constance. Say yes."

"Yes," she whispered and he lined up his cock, closed his eyes and slid slowly into her.

There was no sign of resistance, no barrier to break, no force needed. He slipped home, easily, naturally. She was his and he felt possessiveness pulsing through his mind.

"Mine," he whispered, "you're mine."

He enjoyed every inch, unable to suppress a deep groan as he was fully seated. She moaned, but she clearly wasn't in pain. Her pussy was hot and wet, her body relaxed, so he did everything right. He bent over, placing his hands on the sides of her head.

"Look at me," he demanded and she opened her eyes, obeying his every command, just as Carl taught her. "Do you feel me inside you?" He asked, rocking his hips a little bit.

"Oh ... oh! Yes, yes, I do." She looked so surprised, so lovely that he repeated the movement. "Oh! Arthur!"

"Are you in pain, love?"

"No, I'm not. Thank you, Arthur. That was wonderful." She whispered and lifted her hand reluctantly, caressing his cheek.

"No need to thank me. And, again, we're just at the beginning, Constance."

He lowered his upper body to kiss her, holding his hips still, enjoying the tight, warm embrace his cock experienced.

And then he moved. He pulled out until only the tip of his cock stretched her entrance, and slid back slowly, balls deep. The noises she made, a breathless "oh" when he pulled out and a little gasp when he was fully seated were the best fucking thing he'd heard in years. He locked his gaze with hers, holding eye contact, fucking her ever so slowly.

"Do you like it, sweetheart?" He whispered, trying so hard to keep his slow and steady pace.

He wanted to thrust in her, make her scream, melt into her, staying forever, losing himself in her pleasure. On the other hand he wanted to make it perfect, to make it last, to convince her from sharing a bed with him every night from now on.

"Yes," she whispered and lifted her hips a bit, an action that made him groan. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, sounding terrified, and he shook his head.

"No need to be sorry, Constance. That's good. I like it," he answered, speeding up a little bit, losing the rest of his self-control in a matter of seconds.

A few, fast thrusts later he pressed his temple on hers, making a deep rumbling sound as the pleasure hit him, as he flooded her pussy with his semen. Her name trembled on his lips, over and over, his climax felt nearly endless.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "should have been more gentle, but I ... couldn't."

"I guess you were very gentle, Arthur," she answered and he placed a short kiss on her shoulder, feeling relieved in so many ways.

He stayed in her for a silent minute, waiting for their breathing going back to normal. When he pulled out, he shifted their bodies and placed her head on his chest, his arm around her shoulder, her ear over his heart.

"I ... I didn't know ... that you'd look at me." She whispered and wiped a tear from her cheek.

"You crying? Did I hurt ya?" He lifted his head, looking at her closely.

"No, no ... you didn't. It was ... indescribable. In a good way."

"Thanks. Exactly what I thought. You're fucking perfect, love."

"You're a charmer," Constance sighed and her eyes fell shut. "I didn't know that you'd look at me. Carl ... he was always behind me, he ... never looked at my face. He ... he did it like ... like dogs do it. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I do," Arthur answered, petting over her back. „Carl was an arsehole, as I said, love. And I'm looking forward to show you all the other ways a man makes love to his wife."

"There are more ways?" She whispered, surprise in her face.

"A hundred more, Constance. And not one of them will hurt."

She murmured a thanks and he closed his eyes, noticing that the ghosts of the past didn't haunt him, not since breakfast, not even now. He was happy, satisfied and eager to love her again.

* * *

 **Would you mind telling me what you like or dislike about this story? Talk to me! I'd love to hear from you!**


	10. Chapter 10

Arthur listened to footsteps and the shrill, drunk laughter of a woman pervading through the walls. Constance slept in his arms, her breathing deep and steady, her naked body curled up, skin on skin, against him. Peace, joy and tiredness pulsed through his veins, but he didn't want to waste one minute more than absolutely needed with sleep. Not only because he had the love of his life resting in his arms, trustfully sleeping on his chest, counting on being sheltered, guarded by him. He desperately wanted to enjoy the absence of the war.

The smell of blood and gun powder replaced by the smell of her soap mixed with their lust and the smell of fresh linen.

The permanent, distant roar of guns replaced by the moans, the laughter and the squeaking lath floor in the room above them.

The pictures of human flesh torn to pieces, of perforated guts and empty eyes replaced by the healed wounds on Constance's body, bearable because he knew she won't suffer or being hurt again.

The memory of thousands of good soldiers dying a miserable death replaced by an unforgettable night with Constance.

The tingle of Yperite in his nose, the fast-paced movements to get the goddamn gas mask on his face replaced by the feeling of her breath on his chest and the slow circles his fingers drew on her upper arm.

The feeling of spearing a fucking German with a bayonet replaced by the feeling of sliding slowly into her welcoming, warm and wet pussy.

The sounds of men drowning in their own blood, the gurgling, desperate attempts for air replaced by the sweet noises Constance made while she breathless begged for more, for him.

Arthur closed his eyes for a few seconds and smiled. Peace. Five letters of release, of deliverance. He finally found it, years after Lloyd George signed the Treaty of Versailles.

And all this was why he feared the sleep, the nightmares, why he feared that a horrible dream could ruin their weekend together.

Constance sighed in her sleep, her brows furrowing.

"Shhh, darling." Arthur placed a kiss on her head, pulling the blanket over her shoulder. "'M here. All is well," he whispered and took a deep breath before closing his eyes.

It was after sunrise when he woke up, the room filled with light, so bright he closed his eyes straight away again. He needed a moment to become aware of the fact that he slept like a baby, dreamless and easy. A smile twitched at his lips and he took a deep breath before turning around, facing the room now, not the window anymore.

"Arthur?" She whispered and he hummed in response.

Blood rushed in his cock, changed morning wood into desire, triggered by her voice saying his name. He opened one eye, just to see where she was as he couldn't feel her skin on his. She sat upright in the middle of her bedside, a little smile on her face, her hair braided, her body cloaked in a way too decent nightgown, buttoned up completely.

"Watcha doin'?" He asked. "Come here."

He lifted his hand, making a beckoning sign.

"I'm watching you," Constance answered, taking his hand in hers. "You ... oh!"

She squeaked as he pulled her into his arms and turned her around.

"Sorry," he mumbled, placing a kiss on her shoulder, "didn't want to scare you, sweetheart. Did I scare you?"

"No, I just ..." Her voice trailed off, not finishing the weak excuse she had in mind.

"Don't lie to me, Constance, please." He whispered and decided to drop the topic. "Did you freeze, sweetheart?" He asked, slipping his hand under the nightgown she didn't wear when she fell asleep in his arms.

"No, I didn't. I thought ... it's very indecent and obscene to sleep naked, isn't it?"

"It isn't if the man is naked too. And I happen to be naked ... so ...," he lifted his head and whispered at her ear: "Take this off."

She did as she was told and he sighed very pleased as he pressed his naked chest against her back, his cock against her ass. He started with gentle kisses on her neck, while his hands caressed her breasts. She moaned lowly and closed her eyes, leaving herself to him. Her breathing hitched as he started to suck at the sensitive spots on her neck, as he bit softly in her shoulder. He shifted his thigh between hers, lifting her leg to make room for his hand. His fingers played with her pubic hair before slipping further down. He parted her labia, finding the little nub in an instant.

"This ...," he whispered against her ear, loud enough to drown her little moans out, "this is the spot that gives you the most pleasure." He tipped with his finger directly on it and she quivered in his arms.

"Ooooh ..." A long drawn exhalation, her head fell back, baring her neck to him. "The pussy, right?"

"No, sweetheart. The pussy's here, feel it?" His finger slipped into her, fucking her slowly.

He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling of warm wetness on his skin, thankful for the fact that her body responded so good, so natural and easy on his efforts.

"Yes ... he called it cunt." She whispered, shuddering of the memory.

"That's a very bad word, dirty and rude. You shouldn't say it, Constance."

"I'm sorry," she answered and he kissed her neck, whispering sweet nothings while continuing to finger fuck her slowly.

He left the warm wetness, tipping again on the little nub: "That's ...," he searched for a not-so-dirty name for this particular spot and finished his sentence in another way, as she sighed blissfully. "That's good, right?" He grinned, satisfied with her deep moan.

"God, Arthur ...," she mumbled, her body twitching.

"That's the pearl," he whispered, glad that this tame, nearly poetic name came into his mind right in time.

In a conversation between Ada and a friend of hers, he involuntarily eaves-dropped years ago, the girls named the nub this way, which made him roll his eyes back then. But for Constance, it was the perfect choice to describe this unmentionable part of her body.

"The pearl?" She repeated, panting lowly.

"Yes." He took her hand and guided her fingers between her legs, dipped the tip of her pointer finger in the wetness. "Feel how wet you are, darling. It won't hurt to make love right now. It only hurts when it's dry there."

"Like a goddamn desert," she whispered and Arthur remembered the rape he'd overheard by the kitchen window back on this day in February.

The memory was painful, so he kept his answer short: "Right."

He concentrated on the present and led her finger to the nub, pressed her fingertip on it, gently rubbing.

She moaned loudly, her hips rocking against their hands, rocking against his rock hard, throbbing cock.

"Want me inside you, darling?" He asked, changing his leading hand to be able to line up his cock.

"Yes, yes, please, Arthur," she sighed and he was eager to fulfill this wish.

He fucked her slowly from behind, enjoying every thrust, enjoying her climax, holding her hand still against her vulva as he penetrated her deeper and faster, as he worked for his own release, desperate to spill his semen into her, and to fall asleep with his cock deep in her pussy, taking another nap before breakfast.

Nothing had ever felt so good. Even if he combined the best nights of his life – this was better. And for a few moments, just before falling asleep again, he thought about leaving Birmingham and this whole damn business. He could buy a house in fucking America and wake up every morning like this, until the day he died – innocent dreams of a guilty man. Deep inside he knew he could never leave the Peaky Blinders, his family, fucking Birmingham. But maybe he could wake up like this every day in a small house in Birmingham, listening to the rain pounding to the windows.


	11. Chapter 11

"I'm ...grateful. Somehow," she whispered, searching with her hand for his, intertwining their fingers.

"Why so?"

The room felt silent for a few seconds and she took a deep breath.

"Carl was ... my first. I've never been with a man before him because every man was only interested in my sister. I ... I had no idea of kissing and making love and ... all the gentle ways a man can touch a woman."

"I don't get it. You're grateful for ten years of hell, of rape?" Arthur asked wonderingly, furrowing his brows.

"That's insane, isn't it?"

"Maybe a bit, sweetheart," Arthur grinned for the wink of an eye before he asked in dead earnest: "So, why?"

"I don't know ... because ... if there had been a good man like you, one who gave me the pleasure you've showed me now, my life would've been even sadder. I didn't know what I've missed. You can't miss things you don't know about, right?"

"Likely," Arthur answered, kissing the top of her head.

"May I ask you a question?" She whispered and he knew she would ask how many women he has had.

They all wanted to hear how special they are, that he waited just for them. He felt disappointment because he thought she'd never asked such a stupid question. If he lied, they were angry with him when they found out. If he spoke the truth, they were angry with him because he fucked a whole company of women.

Arthur pressed his lips together and gave her a short nod.

"You ... you touched me so gently all over my body, you kissed me ... there," she led his hand to her breast and he cupped it nearly reflexively. "If I'd do this to you, would you ... like it too?"

He furrowed his brows, taken aback for a few seconds. This was nothing he had expected.

"So, you mean, if you kiss my chest and caress my body? If you do this to me what I did last night to you?" He asked, surprised by the question, relieved that he had been wrong with his guess.

"Yes. I'm sorry if this is stupid or inappropriate, Arthur. I didn't want to ... upset you."

"Constance ...," he whispered at her ear. "I would more than like it. I'd love it. I'm gonna show you after breakfast what I like, how I like to be touched. Alright?"

"Yes," she nodded and pressed her hand on her belly. "I'm very hungry."

"Me too," Arthur said and kissed her forehead. "Come on, get dressed, love. Ladies first." He pointed to the bathroom door and stole another kiss from her lips.

She nodded and gave him one of her rare smiles. With him, she should smile every day a few dozen times, he thought. He wanted to see her smile in her sleep, after waking up, after dinner, after he spilled his semen in her pussy. Arthur wanted to smile with her, to laugh with her.

He watched her getting up and heading to the bathroom, her nightgown wrapped around her body. Maybe, at some day in the future, she would gain enough self-confidence to show her naked body to him without feeling weird or embarrassed. Maybe not. It doesn't matter, he realized by thinking it over, because her shyness was part of her charm. Arthur closed his eyes for a few minutes, imagining all the dirty, obscene things he was going to teach her. He loved the interplay between hallow and whore. Seeing her outside the bedroom just being Constance, a friendly but reluctant woman, modest to the bone, at the same time knowing what dirty, dirty things she enjoys after the door to the bedroom closes. Only with him, only for him.

Leading her to that point would be challenging, but he loved a good challenge.

"Arthur?"

"Hm?"

"I'm ready. You can use the bathroom."

He sighed, stretched his arms, rolled his shoulders and mumbled: "I'm starving."

"So, hurry up, then, Mr. Shelby," she smiled and he shook his head: "No. It's Mr. Hughes until our departure, love. We're Arthur Hughes and his beautiful wife Constance."

"You ... you used a false identity?"

"Just to make sure no one will disturb our ... honeymoon." He got up and closed the distance between them.

"Why?" Constance asked with her head bowed. "Are there people who ... who dare to do such a thing? To you?"

He smirked as he noticed her glance on his naked body, and his hunger turned into something more carnal.

"Don't ask, love. Just go with it." He kissed her cheeks, turned around and headed to the bathroom.

"Mr. Hughes," she said under her breath. "Are there many things I should never ask?"

"Unfortunately, yes." He nodded and gave her an encouraging smile over his shoulder.

* * *

After breakfast they went for a walk and had an early lunch before returning to The Bell's Inn.

"It's a beautiful city, don't you think?" She asked, after Arthur closed the door behind them, and walked to the window. "The ruins of the castle are pretty impressive. And the bay is stunningly beautiful."

"Aye," he answered absent-mindedly, stripping in record speed.

He was fully naked while Constance only had taken her shoes off.

"I would love to come back one time and ..." He interrupted her by turning her around and closing her mouth with a gentle kiss.

His fingers fumbled with the buttons of her blouse and he moaned impatiently, let go of the buttons and tugged the seam out of her waistband. His hands slipped under the fabric and cupped her breasts, still covered in a corset bandeau.

"Strip," he whispered at her lips.

"Arthur ...," she gasped. "You're naked!"

"I am. And I want you to join me."

"In broad daylight ...?" She answered and placed her hands on his chest, not pushing, just for some hold.

"Carl took you in broad daylight over the kitchen table, back in February, after I walked you home." He whispered and opened her skirt with one swift movement. He felt her stiffen and mumbled: "Sorry. That was ... out of place."

"You ... you heard that?"

"Aye. I'm sorry, Constance. I wanted to make sure you're ... safe. I heard what he did to you and I couldn't help you. I wished ... but I would've killed him straight away, in front of you. I couldn't risk that."

Not even this confession was able to deaden his desire for her, so he talked and stripped her naked while speaking. Once she was bare he lifted her up and carried her to the bed. He had no time to show her what he liked – safe the best for last, he thought – so he concentrated on preparing her for his cock in a very efficient way.

"Yes?" He asked, with his voice suppliant and weaker than he was used to, when he found her pussy hot and wet, her face beautifully reddened by the climax she experienced seconds ago.

"Yes," she answered and he spread her legs even more, sinking into her in one smooth movement.

He wrapped her legs around his hips and pressed his forehead on hers, holding her gaze while fucking her slowly.

"You killed him, did you? It was you, throwing him in that sewer, making it look like an accident," she stated matter-of-factly and closed her eyes.

Arthur didn't answer, pulled nearly out and thrust back into her with more force than ever, making her gasp.

"Look at me, love. You're mine," he whispered, knowing he sounded obsessed and dark and dangerous, but he didn't care. "You're mine. He had no right ... no right, you hear me, Constance? You're mine ..."

She moaned, gasped, panted and he helped her with his fingers on her nub, praising lowly as she reached another strong climax. He fucked her nearly through it before letting himself go and spilled his semen in her still quivering pussy.

"You're mine, Constance. And I'm gonna kill everyone trying to hurt you or to make you leave me." He whispered, his eyes closed, his body shaken by the aftershocks of his orgasm.

"Why?" She asked, caressing his cheek.

"Isn't this quite clear? Because I love you."


	12. Chapter 12

The autumn came with nearly never ending rain and frostiness. Arthur worked night and day and in his rare free time he tried to find a house for him and Constance. He still slept alone, uneasy and only for short periods of time, too less sleep to keep his psychic balance well adjusted. Anger, discontent and eagerness were constantly boiling in him, keeping him awake. Two months after their weekend in Aberystwyth he was struggling with the fantasies that once helped him relax, as these fantasies wouldn't come as easy as they used to do. Sharing a bed with Constance seemed to be the only cure for his sleeplessness.

The twist of fate came on a chilly evening in October. The night before he'd tossed and turned for hours, hearing Constance speak just one sentence again and yet again. Five words, said in their second night in Aberystwyth, full of trust, of love, of devotion. Five words, fueling desire and lust, the urge to take her right at the spot, whenever he heard them in his mind.

In this very moment, on a Friday evening, the memory faded out all the other things going on at The Garrison's. Arthur sank deep in his fantasies, in the afterglow of Aberystwyth. He treasured the minutes she explored his body for the first time, her slim fingers wandering over the freckled skin on his upper body.

 _"_ _I want to please you." She whispered, closing the gap between their bodies, her breath fanning over his chest._

He heard her saying the words, saw her coming closer to him, over and over and over, never ending.

 _"_ _I want to please you."_

 _"_ _I want to please you."_

 _"_ _I want to please you."_

"Arthur?" Her voice dragged him out of his thoughts and he lifted his head.

The pub was crowded, a bunch of drunken men sang an old, dumpish song about lost love and dead women.

"Yeah?" He took a deep breath and tried to smell her scent under the fog of whiskey, beer and cigarettes.

"Do you want another drink?" She asked, and he stared at the empty tumbler for a few seconds.

Did he? Did he want to get drunk, to search oblivion in the welcoming warmth of whiskey? He nodded: "Yes."

"Is everything alright?" Constance poured him whiskey in a new glass and gave a newcomer a small smile.

"Yes, goddammit!" He nearly barked, his impatience breaking its way to the surface.

She gulped and took a step to the side, asking the newcomer for his wishes. He watched her, counting the days and nights gone by without him loving her. Two fucking months with only a few stolen kisses in the kitchen of the pub.

* * *

Five whiskeys later, at a total number of nine, Arthur found himself on the street, alongside with Tommy and John, beating the living hell out of a bunch of Greek coalminers. He didn't remember why they argued, why they fought, and he didn't care at all. After the fight – a good one, hard, fast and bloody, which the Shelby's had won, of course – he staggered back into the pub, arm in arm with John, laughing and bragging about their fighting. He wiped over his bloody cheek as he laid eyes on Constance, noticing his rock hard cock in the same moment. He fought, he won, his cock got hard. Reliable.

"Constance!" He called across the room and she hurried to him, as fast as the crowded pub allowed.

"You're bleeding," she said as she finally reached him, fumbling for a handkerchief.

"It's nothing. Come with me," he answered, grabbing her arm, dragging her with him.

"But ... the guests ..."

"Have to wait," he growled, shoving an older man out of his way.

Seconds later, Arthur opened the door to the storage room, led Constance inside and closed the door behind them. He faced the door leaf, fumbling for the key in his pockets. The lock made a clicking sound in the moment he turned the key. Arthur took a deep breath and turned around.

Constance looked at the floor, her fingers playing nervously with the fabric of her skirt. He noticed her fear, tried to simmer down himself a bit and kept his voice calm and serene: "Remember the day we talked about Vigdis?"

"Yes," she nodded, without looking at him.

"What did I tell you about our nights together? Do you remember, love?"

Constance bit on her lower lip, frowning: "I ... I guess you said that I have nothing to expect but tenderness and love."

"That's right. Turn around."

She turned and kept her head bowed, exposing her neck to him, white, sensitive skin, decorated by a few curls escaping the bun on the back of her head. His right arm closed around her waist, his lips ghosted over her shoulder. He pressed is cock against her, rubbed his crotch against her body.

"Arthur," she whispered, placing her hand over his, her breath hitching as he placed a soft bite on her neck. "What are you doing?"

He led her to a rack of wooden boxes, too busy with kissing her neck to answer immediately.

"Gonna fuck you. Bend over, love," he then murmured, pressing his left hand softly between her shoulder blades.

She stiffened and shook her head.

"Not here," Constance said lowly, her tone pleading. "Please."

"Not here?" Arthur asked and she once more shook her head, a silent request for consideration.

For a few seconds the room fell silent, the laughter and talking of the patrons, the clinking of glasses, drowned his fast and loud breathing out. She leant against his chest, not bending over as he'd requested, but she also didn't fight him touching her breasts through the fabric.

"Thought you said you wanted to please me?" He teased and nibbled at her earlobe.

"I ... I do want. But ... there are so many other people ... I can't ... it's not right. Please, Arthur, don't make me do this ...," she answered and he took a step back, suddenly thinking of Carl and the way he treated her.

He wasn't any better when his cock took control, when primal urges took over, when the monster awoke.

"It's not right because of the possible audience or because we're not married, love?" He asked after a few seconds, after regaining at least a bit of control.

She turned around, facing him, and closed the gap between them. Constance caressed his cheek, kissed him on the lips, hesitantly, but she did it.

"Mostly because of the audience."

"So, if this was my bedroom and we would be alone you would let me ... take you?" He whispered at her temple, placing his hands on her ass.

She nodded and leant her forehead at his collarbone.

"I miss you," Arthur said and took a deep breath: "I want you ... to come home with me tonight. I wanna love you and I want ya to sleep in my arms. I'm gonna make sure no one notices."

Her hesitation was perceptible, he knew she feared the gossip.

"Don't you miss me?" He asked, caressing her cheek.

"I do, very much indeed."

"Do you sometimes think about our bodies ... united? Didn't that feel good?"

"Arthur ..." Constance blushed and looked to the floor.

"Answer, my love. There's no need to be embarrassed."

"It felt so good and I ... I liked it, I enjoyed it. Even if this ... makes me your whore."

"Who said this?" Arthur whispered at her ear, softly and calm, just as he'd made some petty conversation.

But his blood raged, his temper boiled. Someone insulted his woman and called her Arthur Shelby's whore. Nothing he could let pass.

"No one," she whispered, tilting her head to grant him better access to her neck.

"Don't lie to me," Arthur answered. "I'm gonna bring it to light, sweetheart. Later, when you search pleasure in my arms, you will only find it if you tell me a name. The right name."

"Arthur!" She gasped. "You won't do such a thing, will you?"

He smirked and kissed her deeply, looking forward to the night.

"In contrast to you, I give a fuck about the audience," he said after ending the kiss, opening his pants.

He led her hand to his crotch and closed her fingers around his cock: "Take me out and pleasure me like I taught you, Constance." Arthur took a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her: "You're gonna need this, darling. I'm gonna tell you when I shoot my wad."

Constance looked at him with a mixture of shock and surprise, but she nodded and did as she was told. Arthur tipped his head back, closed his eyes and searched for hold at the wooden boxes.

"I love you so much, sweetheart," he whispered while whiskey, arousal and her scent mixed to something so spectacular that a hand job seemed to be the entrance card to paradise. "God, Constance, I love you."

* * *

 **You've come so far in this story - and you didn't leave a review? Bummer! Please, take a minute and tell me what you think. You're gonna make my day, I promise!**


	13. Chapter 13

Arthur had satisfied his primal needs by fucking her two times, gently by all means, but a good fuck remained a good fuck, and he felt much better now. He could see clear again, he felt calm and calculating, focused on learning the names of the bastards calling Constance a whore. She was sleepy, dozing off, snuggled against his chest. Arthur cupped her sex, sliding with one finger gently through her folds. She sighed and a smile graced her lips.

"Third time is a charm, darling," he whispered and slipped with two fingers into her pussy.

"I'm still exhausted by the second time," Constance answered and placed a sloppy kiss on his collarbone.

"You have no idea of how exhausted you will be by the time you're allowed to sleep." Arthur grinned and added a third finger, easily.

She was still wet with her own arousal and two loads of finest Shelby semen. His thumb circled her nub and she reacted immediately, instinctively, primal. Her legs fell apart, she turned on her back, tilted her head back, exposing her neck to him.

Fuck, he wanted to take her so badly, but his cock wasn't hard yet – 15 minutes may be nothing for a twenty year old stud, but for him, a man in his mid thirties, with too much whiskey pulsing through his veins, 15 minutes weren't long enough to recover. But, and that was the plan, he could edge her for half an hour, giving him more than enough time to be ready again. He started slowly, having all the time in the world. He wanted her to be fully relaxed, to feel good. She wasn't an enemy, nonetheless he needed to get the information.

"Tell me, sweetheart," he whispered, "who said you were Arthur Shelby's whore? And don't you dare lying, Constance."

He circled her nub with his thumb while speaking, fingers fucking her slowly.

"I ... I ... oh ...," she panted lowly, adding an indignant "OH!" because he stopped as her body started to tense.

He kissed her deeply, drank her breath, before whispering: "You say a name, you get to come. That easy. Be a good girl, Constance, and you get what you need. I'm gonna make you scream in pleasure, I'm gonna fuck you senseless, but first, I need a name."

"That's not ..." Constance whispered and he chuckled, starting all over to edge her a second time: "Fair? Modest? No, it isn't. There are two ways to make a woman compliant, sweetheart. You can beat her up until she does what she's told, or you can take this way, denying her the pleasure she craves so much. Play along, fight me, show me how good you can keep a secret. In the end, I'm gonna win."

"Men always win, right?" She whispered and closed her eyes, committing herself trustfully to him.

"If they're a Shelby ...," he answered and kissed her forehead. "Don't forget to tell me the names ..."

Arthur enjoyed the sight of her losing control and reminded her from time to time that he needed to hear something particular.

"Arthur, please...," she moaned and he chuckled: "Don't know any guy with this name. Arthur Please? Never heard of him."

"You're nasty ... oh, god, please, please!" She panted, her body writhing.

"Uh, I am. But you know what to do to get what you want," he teased, enjoying this way too much.

He wanted to be more severe, more pressing, but he knew he had to save this for another time, when her trust in him was steady, tightened and unbreakable.

"The names, honey," he reminded, "tell me and I'm gonna give you pleasure."

"Please ..., please ...," she mumbled breathlessly, lost in the bubble of lust he'd sent her in.

He took his hand away and tsked at her: "That's not a name."

Two tears ran over her cheeks, tears of struggle and frustration, and she didn't want him to see them, so she hid her face at his chest.

"You're beautiful like this, little one," he whispered, caressing her back, waiting for her to come down.

Suddenly he remembered a conservation he'd heard in a trench in Turkey, when seven soldiers, tired, worn out, dirty, niffy and underfucked, talked about women.

"One day in the future," he heard Quentin Fisher say, "I'm gonna lay in a bed with a beautiful woman, and the only thing that'll matter will be us. On this day, when I'm able to be fully concentrated on giving her pleasure, this will be the day I've found peace."

Arthur smiled, as his peace finding day seemed to be here. And he waited long enough for it to come.

"You are a cruel and evil man, Arthur Shelby," Constance whispered, still breathlessly.

"And yet I give you so much pleasure, right?"

"No, you don't, and that's why you're so cruel." She sighed, turned over and pressed her whole body on his.

Her hips searched for friction and she started rubbing her pussy against his thigh.

"No," he smiled, shifting his leg out of reach. "Nice try. Better luck next time, Madam."

"Oh, god ...," the noise coming out of her throat, half sob, half moan, made his spine prickle, made his cock twitch. "I really shouldn't tell you, it's a very bad idea and you're gonna be so upset ... but ... I need you, need this ... so, alright, you win, Mr. Shelby."

"I always win, honey."

"His name is ...," she took a deep, shaky breath, "Matthew. He is Carl's brother."

"Never heard of him," Arthur frowned and tried to remember whether he had met this man or not.

"He visited me for the first time two weeks ago. He lives in Wolverhampton, and owns a hardware store."

"And he came to Birmingham to ... affront his former sister-in-law, or what?" Arthur asked and drew circles with his fingers on her back.

"Not to affront. To marry."

"He ... what?" Arthur jumped up, staring at her in disbelief.

"He's a widower for six years now and in his family an unwed man marries his sister-in-law when she's widowed. To keep her in the family. It's very traditional."

"It's something right out of the dark ages, Constance." The beast in him awoke with a growl, demanding to kill this man before the sun sets, to reunite the goddamn Erbe brothers in every single of the seven hells.

"Exactly. The Erbe's are very old-fashioned in these things. Matthew was upset as he heard the rumors about us. He did a little research and was furious as he got to know who you are. He called me a dirty whore, satisfying the sinful needs of a godless, notorious gangster, murderer and fancy man. He told me I'm a miserable person and a stupid, spoiled brat to warm a bed for a man like Arthur Shelby."

"He doesn't know what his brother did for a living, right?"

Constance shook her head: "Obviously not. Not even I knew about his ... business."

"Go on. What else?" He hissed, fighting for control, fighting against the streams of blood that narrowed his sight.

"First, he didn't want to marry me anymore, but after talking to a priest he decided that it is his Christian duty to save me, to reconvert me into the good wife I used to be when I was married to Carl."

"You're not marrying him. You're mine," Arthur growled and kissed her deep and hard. "And you are a good wife already. For me." He continued after finishing the kiss.

"He ... he said he'd gave me three weeks and a few encounters between my backside and his cane and I would be renouncing the sin and ruing that Arthur Shelby ever laid a finger on me. Matthew said that you're gonna kill me and dump my body in a roadside ditch once you're fed up with me."

Constance spoke under her breath, searched shelter in his arms.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you will be angry and ... and harm him."

"Oh, that I will. I promise," Arthur growled, baring his teeth. "But first ... I'm gonna fuck you. I owe you some pleasure, right? My good girl ..."

"Arthur, please, do not hurt him. He ... just wanted to be ... helpful, he wanted to make sure that I'm ... aided."

"No one is aided with a cane and stupid blaming. I'm gonna kick his holier-than-thou-ass out of town and tell him to never come back, if he wants to stay alive."

"Arthur?" She asked in the moment he settled himself between her legs.

"Hm?" His eyes were focused on the tip of his cock sliding through her folds to her entrance.

"Is he right?"

"Right with what?" He asked, thrusting balls deep into her in one swift movement, eliciting a moan from her. "The assaults on you? On me? The presumption that beating a woman into a state of forced submission is something that his god approves? The plans of making an unwilling woman his own, of stealing another man the woman he loves? That I'm going to kill you? Right with what, Constance?" Arthur held her gaze and couldn't suppress the aggression in his voice, the anger, the fervour and the madness.

"Are you a fancy man?" She whispered, her voice gave her fear away, and he nearly pulled out, driving back into her with more force than ever, making her gasp.

"I'm no fancy man, Constance. I'm a notorious gangster and I love you. If you die it won't be through my hands. I would mourn you, bury you on a damn cemetery and buy a fucking headstone." He answered and added, even more firmly: "And for the rest: think of the questions you should never ask, aye?"

* * *

Later, while she slept, he thought about how to handle the newest Erbe problem. Killing could be difficult, two accidents in a row could raise suspicion, in Erbe's family or at a police station. He needed a plan, a clever one. He watched the shadows wandering through the room, watched them getting darker and darker until the room was pitch black.

"Arthur?" She mumbled, interrupting some very brutal scenes in his head, full of hate and blood.

"Aye?" He looked to the window, guessing what time it was. Three? Four?

"Why don't you sleep? Do I bother you?"

"Never, love." He placed a kiss on her head and rearranged the blankets.

"Do you think about Matthew?"

He made an affirmative noise and turned on his side to pull her nearer. The silence felt comfortable and he found a little bit peace in the fact that she slept in his bed, in his arms, not in Matthew's or in Carl's.

"Would you like to marry him?" He asked after a minute.

"No."

"Will you marry him?"

"I ... maybe I considered it. For ... for a day," she whispered and he sighed deeply.

Again, they remained silent until a car held in front of the house and the laughter of men filled the air.

"Let's assume you were not mine, alright? Maybe he is as cruel as his brother. He'd rape you, beat you up – do you like it this way, Constance, or why do you think about marrying him? Do you want me to rape you, to discipline you? If this is what you want, you can have it. I'll do my best then ..." Arthur sounded as pissed as he felt, unable to understand how she dared to think about marrying another man. Erratic jealousy pulsed through his body, his mind presenting him pictures of his hand around her throat, of his mouth at her ear, her eyes filled with tears. If she needed a lesson she could have one. He'd provide it flawlessly, a spanking as well as rape. He could hear her begging, her cries, he could see her useless fighting against the grip around her throat, her hands on his shoulders, trying to push him away. Pointless, as she had not a fucking chance against him. Her body would go limp, she'd lose consciousness, so he could pump his semen in a defenceless, conquered woman. Once she came round she would cry for hours. She wouldn't dare to speak in his presence, wouldn't even dare to look at him. The feeling of power, of mastery and force would be overwhelming, no doubt who's calling the shots remaining.

The sound of her voice pulled him back in reality and he fought against the shocking scenes his mind presented him. His cock was rock hard, he was totally turned on by the imagination of introducing her to the monster she chose to live with. Carefully he withdrew from her body, brought some space between them and got up. He searched for his clothes and took cigarettes, matchbox and flask out of the pockets before he walked to the window and opened it. The cold air hit his naked body like a slap in the face and the disturbing pictures paled a bit. The whiskey running down his throat calmed him immediately, and he lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the window. Once he could think clear again he felt ashamed and was thankful for her continuing their conversation.

"Of course I don't want this, Arthur. Please, don't be angry with me. You told me you don't want to hear lies. But if the truth upsets you ..." She spoke carefully, very keen on not annoying him even more.

"Alright, alright." He took a few deep breaths, rubbing over his face, calming himself before asking: "So, why did you consider a marriage with him?"

He turned around to face the room, blowing the smoke over his shoulder, felt goose bumps bloom on his back. Constance sat upright in the bed, her back against the headboard.

"It's ... he's a dangerous man. You are one, too. I know you could kill me in a heartbeat, without me being aware of it. But when _you_ die, Arthur, when someone shoots you, I'm all alone. Tommy will not marry me, John can't, and Finn's way too young. I'm gonna end in a whorehouse or on the street. My future feels safer by marrying Matthew."

"So, you ... leave me?"

"No."

"What does that mean, Constance? Want me to keep as a male concubine?"

"Of course not. We would both hate that. I'm ... I'm gonna live with you, if you still want me to. I'm leaving the rattrap. My feelings for you are stronger than the fear of an uncertain, unstable future."

Arthur lifted his head, relief made his momentarily black soul a bit brighter: "Good. One problem solved. Uh, by the way: I've found a house a few days ago. Gonna buy it next week."

"I'm sure I'll like it."

"How can you know?"

"You'll be there, that's enough. You're the first man who treated me not like an annoying, ugly blowfly. I like being with you. Officially, I'm going to be your live-in housekeeper. Thousands of unmarried couples covering their love this way, right?"

Arthur gave her a small smile and cocked his head: "But you still fear me."

"Yes. I do. But that's alright, Arthur. You need me to fear you. It helps you to ... restrain yourself."

She gave him a smile and reached out for him. He tossed the cigarette out of the window and closed it, before taking the two steps at her side. She intertwined their fingers and kissed the back of his hand.

"I fear you, I respect you and I love you, Arthur Shelby."

He didn't answer, he lay down, pulled her in his arms and slept dreamless and easy until Tommy knocked impatiently at the door.


	14. Chapter 14

Living together with Constance seemed to be the easiest thing in the world, Arthur thought every night when he came home. The small house was tidy, cozy and warm, regardless day or hour. She worked very hard to make everything perfect, to satisfy his wishes, even those he never knew he had. He drank less and slept more, he felt better in general, calmer, more determined. Once in a while his business set him up, he got furious, grumpy, sulky, all the bad things hidden in him got washed to the surface. Still he was a dangerous, erratic man, helplessly delivered to his temper. On days when the shit going on was too much he fell back in old behaviors, in old nightmares. Like on this unforgettable day in February.

"Constance!" He barked, slamming the door shut, storming in the kitchen. "Constance!"

"Arthur?" She answered, turning around.

"Here you are." He spat, his breathing fast and heavy, his anger searching for an outlet.

"I'm cooking dinner. But it's not ready yet." She said and he noticed her hand searching for hold on the worktop.

He was glad to see her, unharmed and safe in his house, but the rage, caused by a very detailed threat against her, just won't cool down. He roared, grabbed a chair and threw it crossways through the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, head bowed, her body pressed against the cupboard.

She made herself small, the terrible fear she experienced clearly visible. But he couldn't ... he couldn't stop. His imagination run amok, he saw everything this gutless arsehole described him in graphic pictures, right in his mind. Torture, rape and a slow, painful death, Constance's suffering, her pain, her tears, her begging. He wanted to kill the man, make him experience all the things he said. And he also wanted to show him what a precious human she was, how sweet-natured, how trusting, how caring and devoted to him. This must be the acme of torture: To see how perfect she was, just for him, for Arthur Shelby, all the little things this bastard would never be able to experience. But Tommy had held him back, forbid him to transform this bloke into a bloody mass of rotting flesh and splattered bones.

"Go!" He barked, tearing at his hair. "Go and bring me ..."

What? Whiskey? Vodka? Rum? A bottle full of the medicine Polly gave him? The Vickers gun he hid in the attic? Or just ... dinner and tea? He didn't know what he wanted, what he needed, except the blood and the soulless look in the dead eyes of a yet faceless man.

"Fuck, Constance!" He said, rubbing over his face. "Bring me ..." He stopped, still searching for something to bring him relief.

"But ...," she answered and the first tears watered her eyes. "I ... don't know where the ... things are. You've never told me. I'm sorry, so sorry."

He blinked in confusion, frowning: "The things? Which things?"

"The ... the cane or the birch. Or shall I bring ... a belt? Sir?" Her voice was thin and she hiccupped between the words, because she cried so much.

Silently, of course, just to be as invisible as possible.

"What?"

"Please, Sir, I don't know what I've done wrong, I swear. But I ... accept every punishment you consider as warrantable. Maybe ... Arthur, Sir, please, grant me a delay, just to ... to finish the dinner. You're hungry for sure, and it'll be ready in about 15 minutes."

"Yes, of course, finish it. Wait, what?" He asked again, taken aback, as the meaning of her words trickled in his mind, cooling his rage slowly.

"I ... I asked where you stash the ... your cane or your birch. Or do you want me to bring a belt?"

"I do not own a cane or a birch. I use my hands, my fists."

"Oh, god, oh, please ..., Arthur, please ..." New tears ran down her cheeks, and she looked so horrified that he feared she would lose consciousness. She cleared her throat, regaining control over her voice, before asking: "So ... uhm, after dinner?"

"After dinner what?" He asked, still trying to process why she talked constantly of canes, birches, delays and punishments.

"Teaching me a lesson?" She said hesitantly and looked as confused as he felt.

"Did you do something wrong?"

"I don't know. You are the one who's angry with me, Arthur. Sir. Can ... can you just go on and ... we can get over with it? I'm ... so scared and I want to be over the hump."

Arthur took a step back and looked to the chair he threw through the kitchen. His rage was gone and the only thing he felt was shame. He walked straight to the cupboard, opened it and helped himself to a drink. Then he turned around to face her and cleared his throat.

"No, Constance, listen. I'm not angry with you. You've got no punishment coming, aye?"

She took a deep, shaky breath and forced a small smile on her lips: "Aye."

"Come here," he demanded, opening his arms for her.

Reluctantly she stepped in his embrace, her arms placed over her belly, and he hid his face in her hair: "I'm so sorry, Constance. I scared the shit out of you, didn't I?"

She cried silently, her body shaking in his arms. Once she was quietened down dinner was ready and she set the table, able to breathe normally, the hiccups gone.

He ate in silence, like he usually did, and Constance always accepted his wish to eat in peace, to cut the conversation to a minimum. After he finished she did the plates and he watched her, drinking another glass of whiskey.

"Arthur?" She asked lowly and turned around.

"Aye?"

"I ... I don't know where to start but there's something you ... you should know."

"What's on your mind, love?" He asked, sitting straight up because he thought to hear footsteps. "Give me a second. I'm gonna check the windows and the doors."

"Is everything alright, Arthur? Are you in sorrow about ... unwelcomed guests?" She whispered, listening closely to the silence surrounding them.

"Aye, maybe," he said and walked out of the kitchen. "Everything's fine," he announced when he came back from his patrol through the house. "What did you wanna tell me, love?"

"I ... don't know if I'm right, because I've never been before ... but ...," she mumbled and cleared her throat. "I guess I'm with child, Arthur."

Arthur blinked, the silence in the kitchen grew bigger. Constance looked on the floor, not daring to face him. Once he processed her announcement in every detail, he took a seat at the table, staring at the tabletop.

"Wait, wait ... you never got pregnant from Carl ...," he said, still not fully believing what she told him.

"I know. But maybe ... I don't know ..., maybe he was the problem, maybe he was the one who was infertile. Maybe ... maybe a man can be infertile too?"

Arthur bit on his lower lip and thought about the last weeks: "Aye, maybe. And you _are_ pregnant. You didn't bleed in the last two months. Why didn't I notice this earlier?" He mumbled, frowning.

"You were busy. I hope you ... accept our child with pleasure?" She asked, placing her hands protectively over her belly.

He nodded slowly, thinking about everything that must be arranged, considered and done.

"I'm ... I'm sorry, Arthur. Carl made me think that I'm too dumb to conceive. I ... I didn't want to burden you with a child you ... never wished for."

"No, no! I'm happy." He whispered, pulling her closer, placing her on his lap. "I'm very happy. I'm just surprised and a bit annoyed with myself. Should have thought about it."

"I ... I could ask Vigdis about ... a back-street abortionist ..."

"No!" He answered, his tone authoritative. "I'm gonna kill everyone laying a finger on my child."

"So, we're ... having a child?"

"We already have, Constance." He answered and a smile graced his face: "Fuck! I'm gonna be a father!"

But first he needed to find the gutless arsehole threatening the love of his life. And the mother of his baby. Tommy could preach whatever he wanted. This bastard had to die.


	15. Chapter 15

Arthur was busy over the next few weeks, trying to find the man threatening his family. Even now, standing in front of the altar, he checked every face in the crowd for someone unfamiliar, for unwelcomed guests. Polly had pushed him to ask for her hand in marriage and after a night long talk she'd said yes. Arthur didn't want his child called a bastard, neither did Constance. The arrangements were made pretty fast, so her belly was still flat as the day of the wedding arrived. The amount of money he'd paid the priest to skip all the appointments (and the confession) you'd normally need before receiving the sacrament had been ridiculously high, but saved him a lot of time he would have spent in the confessional box or at the priest's office.

The ceremony itself was like a distant dream, misty and blurred. He answered automatically, his gaze focused on Constance, on the hair decoration holding the veil, on the plain, wide dress she chose to cover any sign of a rounded belly. Luckily, wide clothes were totally en vogue she'd told him, so no one would know. Arthur smiled a bit, knowing that everyone knew.

"You good?" She asked, walking down the aisle on his arm.

"Aye. Did I say I do?" He asked and enjoyed her chuckling.

"You did. You were very brave."

"Did you say you do?"

"I asked for some time to considerate, but the priest said I have to decide now."

"And?" Arthur asked grinning.

"For heaven's sake, I do."

"Oh, good." He sighed deeply, faking relief.

"Did you dream well, Mr. Shelby?" Constance asked and waved to one of her cousins.

"Very well, thank you. One of the most useful things I've learned during the war: Sleeping while standing. But, to be honest, I didn't sleep, Mrs. Shelby. I was dazzled by your beautiful appearance."

"Did Thomas write this little speech on a paper for you?" Constance asked and entered the car.

Arthur sighed heavily in the moment the car door closed and they got a moment for themselves.

"No. I'm not one for romance and shit ..."

"That I know, Arthur. And I love you either way." Constance interrupted him and stole a quick kiss.

"... but this I meant. You look beautiful."

"I wished for some romance ...," she whispered, intertwining their fingers.

Arthur nodded: "I'll do my very best."

He remembered the talk about her wedding with Carl and the horrible night that followed, the night Carl raped her for the first of many thousand times. He'd bent her over the bed, lifted her dress, pulled the undergarment down and fucked her relentlessly.

Arthur's heart had hurt while listening to this story. She'd cried and screamed in agony and got her first beating right after he was finished because Carl couldn't stand her being vocal while he performed his rights. There had been not a little bit of romance in her wedding night, just horror, fear, pain and blood.

"Don't we attend the reception?" Constance asked as the car passed the restaurant without slowing down.

"No. We're off to the honeymoon. The Shelby family is able to get drunk without our help. And so is yours, I guess."

"Oh ...," Constance said, looking over her shoulder out of the back window. "And what about dinner?"

Arthur chuckled, thinking of the night in Aberystwyth, where she'd said exactly the same.

"Hungry or afraid?" He asked, just as back then.

"Hungry. I know there's no need to be afraid, Arthur."

"Good. We'll have dinner at the hotel."

She sighed happily and placed her head on his shoulder, trustfully and in need of love and affection.

"I'm glad I'm not sick anymore." She whispered and he nodded.

She'd thrown up for the last three weeks all around the clock, got up in the middle of the night to vomit, she had been unable to eat more than just a few bites of bread. He'd heard of morning sickness, but Constance's body seemed to know only mornings, 24 hours a day. Four days ago it had stopped, right after he decided to take her to a doctor at the next morning.

"Me too, love."

"May I have a five course meal? I'm starving."

"Everything you want. If you want to eat the whole night, go on," he grinned, shoving her gently.

"That wouldn't be very romantic."

"Maybe not. But this is your night, Constance. I'll do whatever makes you happy. Even if it's romance and shit or watching you eat a fifty course meal."

"I really like how you add 'and shit' every time you speak of romance," Constance teased chuckling.

"That's because you love me." Arthur shrugged and kissed her deeply, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere between them.

After a delicious dinner he led her to their suite. He'd booked the best room in the best hotel in Birmingham, for a whole weekend. He opened the door and squinted because of all the glittering luxury sparkling in the light of three dozens of candles.

"Oh, Arthur!" Constance whispered, entering the room.

Softly, he closed the door, turning the key around. He stepped behind her, closing his hands around her waist, placing little kisses on her neck.

"So many candles, such a beautiful room. And there are roses, Arthur. Did you ... order this?"

"I'm a bloody master of romance and shit, love." He grinned, enjoying her joy.

"You are. Thank you so much, Arthur. It's stunning and wonderful and amazing."

"Just like you deserve, honey." He whispered hoarsely, leading her to the bed. "Feels like a real wedding night since I couldn't fu ... love you in the past few weeks."

He turned her around and kissed her, gently first, then hungry.

"I'm going slow, aye? I'm gonna be gentle."

"I know, Arthur." She caressed his cheek, her gazed hooked to his, and he could see the dark and disturbing memories this night brought to the surface.

"Don't think of him," he whispered. "He's gone and you've got nothing to fear anymore."

"But now we're married." She answered and shuddered involuntarily.

"That won't change a thing between us. You're Constance Shelby now, and with his last name gone, he is gone for good. You're mine and you're precious. I'll never hurt what's mine."

She smiled between tears and whispered: "Romance and shit. You took lessons, don't you?"

"Tommy and John gave me a few headwords, like say you love her and pay her dinner before you fuck her, but the rest ... is here." He took her hand and placed it over his heart.

"Arthur Shelby."

"I'm here, love."

"I love you and I don't know how to thank you for ... saving me."

"No need to thank me. If it wasn't for you I would be dead by now, so it's you saving me."

She smiled and kissed him and Arthur closed his eyes, knowing that he did everything right. For the first time in his life.


End file.
